Brightest Nights
by katorcrog
Summary: "Dawn. For an optimist, it's the start of a new day. For a pessimist? Same thing." A girl threatens to take the shadows away from the Knight, and bring a dawn to the deepest and darkest night.
1. Chapter 1

This started as a story for another fandom. Then things happened and I changed my mind. I wont lie - this will read like a young adult novel. For girls. Maybe guys too, but I have a vagina so I'm not in a position to decide if males will like it. So guys, if you know any girls who kick ass and love Batman, send them this way.

I didn't expect to be pulled by my backpack into the small garden in the middle of a square. I come flying backwards, whoever has me is very big. I close my eyes tight and inhale what was just knocked out of me. I know I should accept whatever horror is coming, there is no fight to be had. I am small and weak in a bad situation with no hope. Being dragged is painful, it seems like my whole bag and most of my hair is in one giant hand, and my body is twisting to face the ground making everything tighter. The straps of my bag are pinning my arms. My knees are scraping on the path. My tights are ripping. My blood is already starting to flow. It's so dark. I don't know we've reached a wall until I am slammed against it face first, the giant's hand pressing my skull into the bricks, my toes barely touching the ground. I see the glint of something being placed against the wall and hear the sound of impending sexual assault, a belt buckle unlocking and the quiet terrifying zip of a fly. My years of meditation mean my breath continues as calm as possible, screaming will only add to suffering, so I don't. I'm as silent as my attacker. The grim reaper here for my body and soul has no use for a voice and neither do I.

The silence means I hear the flapping of wings, so many wings, and the thud of something landing. The huge grip loosens and my face slides down the wall, he's been distracted by whatever just turned up. I land in a heap on the wet ground and whatever was placed beside me falls towards me.

"No!" The attacker has a voice, it's turned away from me. There's fear in his voice, like I've never heard before. I act. The blade in my hands flies through the air as I stand, quick as lightening, slashing through the darkness as I turn. It's a perfect slice through his torso, stopping only when the blade cracks against his spine. He pitches forward, his guts topple out of him against my boots. The man is so large and whatever was inside his body is now a huge mess on the ground.

I don't have time to even breathe. It's time for me to start running, I know there's someone else here. I don't want to find out who. The murky brown darkness seems to lift only to show my exact path to escape, and I don't stop sprinting until I reach my back fence. I leap over like I never knew I could. Then, like it's any other night, I walk in my unlocked back door, lock it and remove my bag and jacket and kick off my shoes in the same movement, dump it all in a pile and remove the rest of my clothes while walking to shove the lot in the washing machine. I pay no attention to my grazed knees, tvhey look worse than they feel. I'm barely registering my surroundings as I move to the shower, I don't know how hot the water is when it hits my skin and i dont pick up a towel on the way out and across my room. Yesterday's water sits by my bed and I take a couple painkillers. I don't care about the warm dusty water. I slide onto the bed still wet and naked. I think I was already asleep when I stopped running.

As I start to drift off, whatever survival techniques my body and mind used are wearing off, so I start to remember and process what has happened. There was so much blood, violence and brutality, and it came from my hands. It was so quick. But I'm dreaming already.


	2. Chapter 2

"Good morning."

There's a deep silky voice in my bedroom.

"Good morning." I reply. Always nice to be polite. "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?"

I should be more alarmed. Maybe I'm still asleep.

"You're not at your house. It's probably not safe." He's sitting in the chair beside the bed. It's definitely not my bed.

"Of course, the big guy. The blood and gore... that wasn't just a simple assault in the park was it?" the fog is lifting.

"Well, it was actually. He has a weakness for young girls. But the sword is what matters, and its yours now." He's American. How strange.

"So, what now? I have a sword. And now I don't have my life?" I try to sound flippant, but I'm on the verge of panic. But I can't look away from him, and he's so solid and firm and I don't feel like I'm going to go into shock. I'm just confused.

"Yes. This is a big deal. And a long story. A lot of people, organisations will be after it. And the way you used it last night means it is your burden now, and you must learn to wield it." I should be waking up to sunshine and a good days work ahead of me.

"Oh." Is the only reply my mind can come up with.

"You need to get up. Now. We need to leave. I've let you sleep for maybe 20 hours." Whoa. I've never slept this long.

"So its not 'good morning' is it?" I'm starting to get snappy with him. Teenager.

"Rose, I don't gave time for this. I know I have a lot of explaining to do. I promise you'll know everything as soon as we can afford a little time." Something in the way he looks at me makes me believe him, he's being stern but his eyes are almost pleading.

"Alright, alright, I'm getting up." He doesn't move, no part of him does. His face is like a mask. "Can I have a minute?" I ask.

"Yes, of course. There are clothes over there for you." I look over, and when I turn back to face him he's already at the door. He's quick and silent. "Hang on! What's your name? How do you know mine?"

He hesitates... I've caught him off guard. But its just a name, isn't it?

"I'm Bruce. I'm trusting you with everything just by telling you that, but since I'm the only thing between you and everything on the other side of the gates, trusting each other is a necessity." So much of what he says is dark and terrifying. A weapon, a burden, a journey... one hell of a long story. "And for some reason your name is all I know about you, Rose."

He leaves, and my mind is playing catch up. He's so handsome that I can barely think past it. He's everything I dreamed of in a man as a girl, he's just as big and broad shouldered as Superman in that tv show I watched as a kid. It's a long time since I watched tv. I remember feeling so safe watching Superman and Lois Lane, Clark was so good and so kind... I feel safe with this Bruce, but I'm also a little scared. Or I should be. It's like he is a shadow, there's no light about him. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes, and I'm sure I saw bruises on his cheekbones and his jaw. That strong, sculpted jaw... I shouldn't be thinking about good looks and tv right now, I'm in a strange place and a lot of strange things have happened. Not to mention he's a lot older than me.

I get up, and I'm not as naked as I left myself last night. I guess this is one of his shirts. A black one. It's so soft, like silk, and it comes down to my knees. Thank god, because there's nothing else underneath it. I'm not going to think about how I got from 'naked' to 'into this shirt.'

I look around, the room is a room just like any other. But its clean, and the linens feel expensive. There's a bathroom, toothbrush waiting for me. Very lucky, my main concern about kidnapping is if I'd be allowed to maintain my personal hygiene. I hate having a fuzzy mouth. This isn't really a kidnapping though, I'm safe here. I wasn't before, I guess.

The clothes left for me aren't what I expected. There's some black trousers, they're soft and strong like leather but they seem stretchy. There's a top too, and it feels like the same material but parts of it are hard. There's no underwear. Running theme here.

I guess its time to stop thinking and start getting ready for whatever trip Bruce is taking me on.

A quick walk down the hallway following Bruce doesn't give me many clues to what I've gotten mixed up in. Another plain place, I can't decide if this is his home or not.

"Where are we?" I ask. I don't really care, I guess I just want to make conversation.

"Does it matter?" He replies.

"No, I guess not. Nothing matters much anymore does it?"

"Don't over think it. You're going to somewhere new, where a lot of things matter. Bigger things than what's for dinner and watering the plants." I'm sure he thinks he's being kind, but he's touched a nerve. I don't think I'm going to bother with small talk from now on.

Walking behind him I notice how tall he is, its like he's a million miles above me. And so much wider. I'm glad his clothes seem to match mine, I feel less ridiculous. Though these clothes are the most amazing things I've ever worn, I'm the perfect temperature and so comfortable. The boots are so much better than the trashy beat up ones I kicked off last night. I won't miss those.

There's no people to see us in our funny armour though, its dark out, and Bruce places a bag into a car that doesn't have badges, its not a BMW or a Ford or anything. I shrug off the train of thought and get in the car. There's a driver. Very old fashioned. As we drive away I look back at the house.

We'd come out a small back door, it hadn't given away what kind of house it was. Turns out it was one of those huge country homes you know exists but never see. What is Bruce, a Knight, a Lord? The kind with secrets and swords and chauffeurs?

We are driving in silence, through small roads where other cars are few and far between. A long time passes, and since I can't work out what's going on I start to get sleepy.


	3. Chapter 3

I can't help but blurt out the first thing that pops into my head when I wake up and see this old dude.

"That is an amazing moustache. I've never seen a real live pencil moustache before."

"Why, thank you Miss Wilde. Now up you get, we've got a plane to catch." This must be the guy that was driving. He's not American like Bruce.

"Right, okay." I shuffle out expecting to find myself in a crowded car park but it's nothing like that. It's like on tv, we are right across from a plane. A plane like nothing I've ever seen. It's more like a jet. The moustache dude already has one foot on the stairs while I just stand gaping at the thing. "Please, my dear, we need to get going."

I spring into action, make it over to the crazy flying thing, and get myself seated in this huge luxury seat quicker than I expected to. The moustache heads in and sits opposite me.

"I think I should introduce myself, I'm Alfred Pennyworth. I work for Mister Wayne. I believe it is a lot to ask of you, but I hope you can trust me as he does and-" I have to cut him off there. Cogs are turning.

"He's Bruce Wayne. The billionaire? Huh." I guess it makes sense. Well, the house and the plane make sense, but I still don't know what he wants with me. I can't keep in the huge sigh as I sink back into my seat, fingers massaging my temples. I'm under the protection of a billionaire. Yesterday I was growing my own food. I didn't have a pound or a penny, never mind a billion.

"I know it may seem redundant of me to say, but please try to stay calm." Alfred leans forward to me, and looks at me. He has the kindest look, I can tell he's worried for me, but I feel okay.

Then the plane starts up, and it sounds like nothing I've ever heard. But I haven't been on a plane before, so I've not got much of a point of reference.

"Wait, where is Bruce?" I look out the little window, but there's nothing but black out there.

"I'm afraid I only get to drive the cars. Some of them anyway. Mister Wayne is a much better pilot than I am."

Wow.

"I'm getting fed up of being surprised now. I guess this would be the moment where I say 'I'm not in Kansas anymore' and just run with it, right Alfred?"

He laughs like a gentleman.

"Yes, my dear, but I feel that you will cope marvellously. We have a few hours just now to get acquainted and I'll get you up to speed with what I can. However, Mister Wayne may want to brief you on certain points himself."

"Can I ask you about some things? I'm fast, aren't I? I'm sleeping a lot too, and my dreams are different, I'm walking through this beautiful bright field of flowers even I haven't seen before and it's so bright. I've never dreamt like that before, like I'm waking up somewhere else." I'm doing a shabby job of explaining this to him, it's embarrassing. He smiles under the moustache.

"You are faster now. You need to be. There are other things that will change along with it. The general performance of your body will increase. I presume you will need to be asleep for these changes to take place. Think of yourself as a napping baby, they need rest and deep sleep to develop, to become strong." He pauses, and reaches into his bag. I expect him to bring out something that will explain this further, but instead it's a flask and a lunchbox.

"The dreams however, I can't explain. I hope you like earl grey tea and cheese and ham sandwiches, that's all I had time to put together this evening." I laugh, this is very sweet. I'm getting to nap and be fed just like a child.

"I've never had earl grey before actually, I hope I like it." I notice now what he's wearing, he's in uniform. White gloves. "Are you some kind of butler, Alfred?"

"Why yes, at the very base I am quite simply a butler. I was hired by Master Bruce's father when he was just a young boy and I have been by his side ever since. I'm sure he'd still only eat cheeseburgers if it wasn't for me." He's proud of Bruce, it shines from him. "I probably should have retired some time ago and opened my own public house, as is customary for men of my trade, but I'm afraid my job would be a hard vacancy for anyone to fill.

"Anyway, you don't need to hear about me, let's get on. I think I'll start with a very old story, and we will continue from there. Please, tuck into your tea and sandwiches."

"Hundreds of years ago, the order of St. Dumas began as part of the Knights Templar. A group of select Knights fought in the crusades, and eventually broke from the church. They established their own secret cabal and created an angel of vengeance to protect the Lord's word. The defender was named Azrael.

"In more modern times, a different order of Dumas called the Order of Purity took a more peaceful approach to this fable and created a warrior, or the idea of one. They melted the blades and breastplates of a dozen good, slain soldiers and created the Suit of Sorrows.

"Burdened with the Sword of Sin and blessed with the Sword of Salvation, their own version of Azrael quietly defended the Order of Purity... but at a great price. There have been many men to fill the role of Azrael. Until eventually there was less of a need, and the Order of Purity ceased to exist. Over the years since then the Suit of Sorrows fell into the hands of a... collector, but has never been used. Or separated.

"Until the Sword of Salvation fell into your hands, my dear."

He gives me a meaningful look. Like I was supposed to process more than a few words of what he said.

"Master Bruce was simply hot on the tail of a meta-human, what you would call a monster, when he found that he was in possession of the sword. We are almost sure the meta had no idea what he was in possession of, as Master Bruce is one of the few people in the world that know of it's existence outside the fable. The other people that know about the Suit of Sorrows are quite possibly the most dangerous people in the world, and they reach organised crime on so many levels the world over. This means that the only place you will be safe now is with Master Bruce. That is, until you are able to protect yourself."

"I've got to protect myself from organised crime because of a sword? I don't even want it! I just picked it up, I don't even know where it is now, can't we just dump it somewhere? Give them it? Anything?"

"I wish that were possible, you are very young, but our hands are tied and your fate has been thrust upon you. You see, there is what you may call magic surrounding this story, perhaps something from a descendant of Merlin himself, and until the sword is held by it's true bearer it is little more than an old dusty relic. Until it fell into your hands it was incapable of harming anything, and I hear you turned on your attacker with it and..."

"Yes Alfred, I remember. I nearly chopped him in half." I try not to remember. I need to distract myself from the memory. I go to pick at the scab on my thumb with my forefinger, a horrible worry habit I have along with biting my nails, but there is no scab. And my nails are perfect, no more dirty little stumps. I look my hands over, there isn't a mark on them. "Huh. You did say I'd be stronger, I didn't think it meant I'd end up with a pretty manicure."

"Bless your cotton socks, you are so young. Anyone else faced with the knowledge of monsters and knights would be less worried about their nails. Perhaps your age will be a benefit in this situation. I had believed it would complicate matters, but you seem to be adapting very well."

"Thank you, I think. And thank you for the tea, it takes some getting used to but I think I'll like earl grey." I change the subject away from monsters.

"I'm sure once we are home I'll be able to fix you up with any tea you'd like, but I'm glad you like the earl, it has always been my favourite. Now, if you don't mind I'd like to satisfy my own curiosity. Mister Wayne is one of the best detectives in the world, yet we couldn't find more on you than your library card. You don't seem to match any of the Rose Wildes in any country with electronic databases, you seem to be quite the ghost, if you'll excuse the term." I freeze, I wish I knew more so I could say more.

"I'm sorry Alfred, but there isn't much more to me than a library card. About five years ago I came across the little cottage in the church gardens, abandoned, and I've been living there since. No one uses the church, no one bothers me. I just work the garden and hope someday when someone claims the place they might keep me on, employ me properly. That's all there is to it. Before I found that place, I was just a kid. I guess I wasn't on anyone's radar."

"My, Bruce was right." Alfred leans back in his seat, apparently shocked at the revaluation that there's not much to me. "I had you pegged as a homeless runaway, a squatter. Bruce saw the work in the garden, the way it works almost as a farm, the way your home is self sustaining, the solar panels and such... it's nearly impossible, but you live off the radar don't you?"

All I can do is nod.

"You must have come from somewhere?" He's prying. I shouldn't say, I don't need to say. I could lie. Maybe if I was in a different situation, I would.

"I'm a carney."

For Alfred Pennyworth, at that moment, the penny drops. I gave him a small smile, to show him that it's no big deal. My background has made me who I am, gave me all the skills I need to survive.

"Well, Miss Wilde, the more I learn the more I see that you may be perfectly equipped for your future. The only stone that remains unturned is your age?" Right, the question I don't really want to answer.

"Sixteen, maybe seventeen. Eighteen at the oldest. All I've got to go by is puberty, and comparing myself to other girls. I didn't pay attention to how old I was when I was little, no one did. We were a vagrant group of kids, old ones looked after the young, that kind of thing. The adults were responsible for us and took us with them, but we could have been anyone's children. Like any kids, we loved tv, and when we came across them it was like magic, but it poisoned me. I saw that my world wasn't the real world. Eventually I left, and I haven't looked back. At least not until you asked me."

We finish the last of the tea from the thermos in silence. I'm pretty sure he was uncomfortable asking me so much, and it's my best guess that he may not have done if his employer hadn't asked him to.


	4. Chapter 4

We land, but I'm so sleepy. Too sleepy to do more than vaguely notice what's happening around me. Alfred has cleared our little tea party up, and gathers the bags. It hasn't escaped my notice that nothing was taken from my house. I don't know why, but I know it doesn't matter. The garden was my most important possession, and it wasn't even mine. I realise it'll fall apart without me, and I feel a burning in my chest. This must be what loss feels like. It's easier than I expected.

Since the night I was attacked I've had a strange hold over my emotions, there's a new strength of will, and I'm never as shocked as I suspect I should be. I'm rolling with the punches like I never knew I could. Before, I was always scared someone would take away all I'd worked for, the police or the church. I panicked and considered my excuses and lost hours of sleep worrying. Now this damn sword thing, and Bruce swooping in, has taken what was most important to me away. I should be screaming the house down. I could have at least put up a fight. Something inside is telling me not to, that my life will be exactly as it should be from now on. No need to panic.

I'm all tucked up in my seat with my head against the window, fighting sleep yet again. Alfred raises his hand to me like he's going to give me a good shaking to get me moving, but a shadow moves behind him, and he retreats.

Then Bruce reaches down and picks me up. I've never felt anything like it. Rather than just slip his arms under my legs and waist, he's got me propped up with my head on his shoulder and my legs bundled up in his arms. When he starts walking I notice I need to hold on so I wrap my arms around his shoulders. Alfred had told me Bruce would protect me, and I had thought he was only one man, how could he? I know now that I've never felt so safe. Perhaps that's what every girl feels in the arms of a man.

We move out of the plane and down the steps, and I try to take in my surroundings. I can feel Bruce's pulse on my forehead, I can feel his muscles move. He's so stiff, like I'm pressed up against a rock, but there's a me shaped hole carved into it and I've settled into my place. A piece in a puzzle. I can't remember ever being close enough to a person to smell them like this before. I'm sure other people don't smell like this though, it's like he's got a chemical all over his face. But I can smell his hair too, and it's like mint and apples. My surroundings beyond him are anyone's guess. Darkness, and running water, like waterfalls and echoing drips all around me.

"Where-" I start, but can't finish. He shifted, and now I feel like I'm being held so tight I'm close to being crushed.

"Don't ask yet." It's just a murmur from him, but I'm pressed right against his chest so his deep voice goes right through me. It might only be a simple request from him, but it feels like more. Like I don't want to know the answer. I tighten my hold around him, not just because we've picked up pace, but because I want him to know I understand, I don't mind.

I yawn, and I feel him sigh just a little. I wonder for a second if it's exasperation, he has gone to huge lengths for me, and why should he? We don't know each other, I know Alfred better already. Bruce didn't have to intervene in my fate, but he seems like a noble man, someone who will see a job through. I am a part of his job, Alfred said he was working on an investigation when I got myself attacked and involved. I'm the girl in the movie that has nothing to bring to the table but has to be taken along on the ride because she's done something stupid and gotten herself involved.

I'm ashamed. A burden. Powerless in my own life. I shift ever so slightly in Bruce's arms, and the powerless feeling drops away. I can feel every muscle I have, and all the ones I didn't know I had spring to life and flex, it's like a bolt of adrenaline.

"Careful, loosen your grip." Bruce asks. I do, and instantly go back to being sleepy and slack in his arms.

We reach the top of stairs I thought would never end, and move through a hallway. It's still dark, but I notice things here and there, a painting, a side table with a beautiful vase, beautiful things in a beautiful place. We pass rooms I only see a tiny part of, and they seem unused, unattended. I feel it before I know it, Bruce is alone here. How can a billionaire be alone? No one to greet him when he comes in the door, apart from Alfred.

We go across a very empty room, there's two old sofas sitting opposite each other right in the middle and nothing else. Huge windows are rattling in the wind and the rain; I don't see anything outside but clouds. There's a little hallway, then we come out the other side in a normal, modern bedroom. It's bigger than my whole house but all that fills the space is a bed, an armchair, and a huge sliding door to a bathroom. It's warmer in here, and there is light, it's dim but cozy. His bed is unmade, and there's the various parts of a suit lying spaced apart through the room. I imagine Bruce moving through his room the same way I do, removing layers and making his way to shower after a hard days work. I'm sure it's Alfred's job to pick up the clothes for him though, and I stop thinking that maybe the billionaire and I have anything in common.

I expect to be dropped into bed and into my dreams, but instead Bruce sits in his chair with me still attached to him. I go to move off him, unburden him, but when I stretch my legs away and bring my arms down, his hand holds my hip in place so I can't swivel away.

I look at his face to try and decipher what he expects me to do, but his expression is blank, a mask. He's just looking at his hand on my hip. I don't want to force myself away from him, and maybe there's a reason he needs to keep me so close, so I lean back into him and place my head against his chest, tucked under his chin. I don't mind being here.

I take calm, sleepy breaths and feel his breathing start to match my own, and as I slip away I feel his hand tighter on my hip. His other hand runs up my back, my neck, fingertips brush my ear and I find myself in my dream again. In the field.


	5. Chapter 5

This time when wake up I don't feel like I'm on a different planet. The room is calm, there's sunlight coming in the windows, through the light and airy curtains. Apart from my dreams I haven't seen daylight for so long. It isn't quite sunshine, it seems like a cloudy, dreary sky, but it makes me smile and long for the feel of grass under my feet, dirt under my fingernails. I look at my nails, they're as perfect as they were on the plane. Like my hands, and my arms. No scars, no scabs, no tan lines from gloves. I'm in Bruce's bed, and when I pull back the covers I'm expecting to find myself in another soft shirt, but I'm still in the gear I put on last night. Or, going by the flight and amount of sleep I've had, the night before that, maybe. I might hurt myself trying to work out how much time has passed, maybe I'll just ask. Maybe it doesn't even matter.

Bruce isn't here, and I don't feel brave enough to call out to him. He's probably busy somewhere. He could be anywhere, I have no idea what he's involved in. I'm guessing what I know is just scratching the surface. The Bruce Wayne I know is just one of the men trying to rehabilitate the world's economy after it all went to shit. He's not the only one, but he frequently pops up in news as the guy that brings corporate fat cats down a few notches and royally pisses them off. He has something to do with some huge company and he somehow points out big crazy flaws in other ones without it seeming like it is competition. I have no idea how he does it, but I don't need to. I don't get involved with the economy much, and it doesn't seem to need me. It needs Bruce.

I think I need him, too. There's an urge to find him, but I don't know what I'd do if I did. There's a lot I could ask him, but it seems like I'll find out anything I need to as it comes. I feel like I don't want to push him, I need to be patient. This might be a big adjustment for him as well as me, having to bring me here. If you overlook the creepy magical stuff, he's a man with a teenager to look out for. The thought deflates me. We aren't equals.

I look around, hoping for a note to give me clear instructions on what I have to do now. The room is just how it was when I fell asleep, no notes. I must be trusted to do as I please; I've been left in peace. It's possible they expected me to sleep longer, though. Surely I can't do any harm by showering.

There's a patch of the bathroom tiled with mirrors and I'm glued in front of it after my shower. My body felt different, but it looks like a different version of me. I might actually be taller. Puberty was a horrible time, and it made my body all uncomfortable for me for a while. I had been trying to tone it all up with yoga, but it would have taken crazy aerobics and weights to get like this. I can't help but be ecstatic at the transformation. I've gone from awkward teenager to full grown woman in a couple of days.

Suddenly aware that I am just a young girl in a man's bathroom posing in the mirror, I wrap up in a towel and go search for clothes. The black protective stuff I was wearing was tight on me when I pulled it off and I don't fancy putting something I slept in back on.

Bruce's wardrobe seems to be filled with suits, I have no idea what I could fit into to be acceptably dressed to leave the room. I could be brazen and strut about in one of his shirts and a pair of boxers like I own him, but I don't want to push boundaries. A selection of hoodies and sweatpants is hidden in a drawer to my relief.

Still no underwear, but it's something.

It's easy for me to feel like I'm creeping about in this huge house, the place seems to be filled with ghosts. Nothing is as up to date as it is in the bedroom. But it has charm, someone must have put the effort in to decorate long ago.

Down the stairs I reach the kitchen, and find Alfred.

"You cook, too? Don't the rich usually have a separate employee for that?" He jumps around, hand to his chest, moustache aquiver.

"Sorry, didn't you hear me come in?" I ask.

"I'm afraid I didn't, and my hearing is quite good for a man of my age. Perhaps you could add stealth to the list of your new skills."

I laugh. "Yeah, but growing an inch in height and losing one round the middle is my favourite skill so far."

"Are you hungry? I'm sure you are. Here, take this bowl for you, and this one for Bruce. You can save me a trip down those retched stairs." Bowls and forks are bundled into my hands, and he turns me to an inconspicuous little pantry door. "Down the rabbit hole you go, my dear."

And with that, I'm shoved into a dark cupboard. I almost turn to voice my protests, but then I focus and I can see the stairs Alfred mentions. This isn't a pantry, I'm going down into a cellar.

Twenty steps are behind me when I notice they never seem to end, and the walls are getting further apart. The sound of water and the gloomy darkness is familiar. This is the way I came in. When I put what feels like a hundred more steps behind me, everything really opens up and I can't believe what I'm looking at. I've just carried two bowls of food into a cave. A huge wet cave. And I can hear squeaking animals. Rats? I shiver.

There's shadows here and there, and things hidden inside them, but I finally focus on a man sitting at a computer. Well, a computer is an understatement. It's a whole wall of screens and other things I've only ever seen on tv. On sci-fi shows. Set hundreds of years in the future.

"Hi," Bruce says, without turning to me.

"Hi, at least you heard me coming. I think I gave Alfred a good scare up there."

When he swivels in his chair I expect the same broody face I always see, but instead he makes what is almost a comedy double take, and seems to look at every inch of me like it's a brand new shiny thing.

"Ha, looks like I have given you the old Scooby-Doo anyway." He snaps out of his trance and makes eye contact.

"I didn't actually hear you coming, but the computer told me. You've changed."

"Yep, sorry I raided your wardrobe, but the black stuff was really tight when I took it off and I wasn't in the mood to squeeze back into it." I move over to him and hand him his bowl. It's only then that I realise it's the most amazing smelling pasta, with vegetables and bits of chicken and a rich tomato sauce. Pasta is quite time consuming when I make it so this is a treat.

"That's not what I meant, but you can wear whatever you want of mine, it's no problem. But Alfred will sort you out with some new things for you... he should. There must be things you need that we won't have here."

He's flustered. Maybe I wasn't supposed to come down here, invade his man cave.

"You have to try this pasta, Bruce, it's so, so good."

"Yes, yes."

We eat in silence, and it verges on uncomfortable. I'm happy, eating good food and in a cosy hoodie, perched on the edge of a super computer. Bruce is looking at me whenever I look up from my bowl, and I just smile at him, he looks so concerned and I want to make it go away. I'm at a loss for something to say so smiling is all I can do to communicate to him that I think everything is okay.

But he still looks like he is in pain.

He slowly chews on his last mouthful, and I'm completely distracted by his jaw. I'm jabbing my fork about in my bowl trying to get my last bite but when I finally tear my eyes away from below his ear I see that I've already finished my pasta.

I had thought he might start talking, explaining things. He doesn't. So after an uncomfortable silence, I start.

"So, you fight crime from your basement? A creepy cave basement?" He softens, just a little.

"Yes. I fight crime on the streets of the city too, it isn't just a desk job."

"Of course, that explains all the... muscle." I should have come up with something a bit less moronic to say, but after last night I can still feel all of those angles on his chest.

He doesn't reply, and I feel very silly. But I continue - I'm curious, and I can brush off the embarrassment.

"How much crime do you deal with? I've never known big organised crime. Is it like the movies? Pimps, drug dealers, and hookers on street corners, all platform heels and glitter, Italian guys smoking big fat cigars in dark rooms above strip clubs having people killed for disrespecting their mothers... that kind of thing?"

"Unfortunately not, although all of those things do exist, though not as colourful as you imagine it." He gives me a disapproving look. "There's more prisons here than there should be. More insane asylums too. Criminals and psychopaths are sent here from everywhere. I've yet to find out who profits from this as it isn't standard practice, we can't seem to export citizens that have paid their debt to society and learned from their time, or heal the mentally ill and send them home to their loved ones. They come, they stay, they never leave. Part of a system, where crime is every business in town. A criminal is given parole, can't leave the area, and falls into another unlawful line of work in order to survive. Vicious circle." It's depressing. No one seems to have a chance, a choice.

"How can you possibly go up against that?"

"I go after the people who exploit the desperation. More often than not, they are not regular men. Those who are lucky enough to be extremely intelligent along with psychotic tend to fill my nights. Sometimes outsiders want to come in and control the action. There are things that go bump in the night here, things you may not believe until you see." This he says with regret. He doesn't want me to see. He doesn't seem to realise I'm already seeing things I shouldn't believe.

"Things like me. If I can change into a warrior shaped woman in a few days, it opens up the possibilities." I smile at him.

"You have no idea what you might be in for." I recognise condescension in his voice, my smile goes unreturned.

"You're telling me about it, aren't you? That's more than no idea." My retort comes out more aggressive than I'd hoped. He's worn me down, refusing all of my attempts to make this an easier conversation. He always pauses before he speaks, considers what he's saying. I just speak, with little effort. I've never had serious conversations like this before. I must be doing it wrong.

He sighs, and I see the pain in his face. Whatever darkness he deals with I can see in his eyes. I can't look away from them. I want to see what he has seen, share the burden. Perhaps I am naive.

"Look, maybe you'll get on better discussing these things with Alfred. He knows as much as I do, he has my journals, and you two get on better than you and I. I'll deal with the physical stuff." He turns his chair away from me, as if I am dismissed. He doesn't see my eyebrows raise in surprise, he's back to scrolling through pages and pages of text on one of his many screens.

It seems like he can't handle a little conflict in a discussion with me. I'm disappointed, but he's right. I can try to lighten the mood around him, but all I seem to do is ruffle his feathers. My silly anecdotes probably seem like I'm making fun out of work he takes very seriously.

We seem to exist together quite peacefully when we don't talk to each other. I pick up my bowl, and move behind his chair to get his.

I communicate my understanding by resting my hand on his shoulder, and giving it the lightest squeeze. I almost jump out of my skin when I feel his hand close around mine. He tucks his fingers under mine and rubs his thumb across the back of my hand, just once. It's so quick, then he takes his hand away. I take the bowls up the stairs as fast as I can.


	6. Chapter 6

Using the new copy n paste thing... fingers crossed. Hello to people following this, you made me smile big.

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I'm bored, wandering around this huge mansion and finding nothing but empty rooms, some with sheets hung over furniture, some with no furniture at all. Behind some sheets in one of the bigger rooms I find portraits, painted ones of other Waynes. Bruce's family history hanging from walls looking down at me. Some of them have little plaques in the frames, giving dates and names going back centuries. I can't trace my family back one generation and Bruce has it all mapped out here for him. I imagine what it must be like to know exactly where you came from, what the standard is for your life. What's expected of you.

The most recent painting on the walls of Bruce's family tree is 25 years old, and it is easily the best in the room. A young man sits on a chair, his wife behind him, and an adorable little boy on his knee. In every other painting, the subjects are stiff and serious, but here I can see emotion. A happy little family shine from this canvas. There's no names, but I presume the smiling boy in his adorable navy blue blazer is Bruce. I smile back at him, but then the hairs on my arms stand up, and I don't want to look at it anymore. It's too precious. I hang the sheet back over it and walk away.

The thought of him as a happy young boy makes him more real to me. Bruce so far has been nothing but what he is to me. Now I can imagine him going to school, running around these rooms, growing up. I presume at some point he went to university, and the boy became a man. I realise that he can't be older than thirty, and I think about how his age had never crossed my mind before. So far he has seemed ageless, nothing about his appearance is old, nor is it youthful.

The rain that stars falling against the windows stops me from heading outside to see if there's anything interesting in the garden. I'm excited to go out there, but I want to save the exploring for a brighter day. The rain running down the windows suddenly feels like little bars on a cage, keeping me here. I remember the night I was attacked. Before then, violence didn't exist in my world. I was that monster's prey, a mouse against a lion. The moments since then have been almost calm, but the violence is still there. Dramatic changes in my life and inside me that I haven't asked for, being on the other side of the world... seeing monsters are real. Knowing there's a man here who fights them. How violent must his life be, to live in an empty house, to have to conduct his investigations from a secret underground base?

I picture what day to day life here might be for me. Bruce talking about physical training has seemed ridiculous to me so far, I imagine him teaching me to smash concrete blocks and catch flies with chopsticks. He thinks the threat to me is minimal, no one knows who I am, so why do I need to train? I could hide. I've hidden for long enough already, in plain sight. I smiled as I passed strangers, saying good morning, discussing the weather. None of these people knew my name, or where I come from. When a life is so completely disrupted like this, shouldn't there be something a little more dramatic in it's wake? Instead it has all just floated by, unimportant.

I'm a tree that's fallen in the woods, and I didn't make a noise.

-:-

When I complete my round trip of the house I'm in the kitchen, where I find Alfred. He's sitting behind a little laptop with a big bound notebook, tapping away. I shuffle my feet as I walk over to him to save him from another fright from my new creeping skills.

"Oh good, there you are." He turns his attention from his work and stands. "I didn't fancy having to spend my afternoon seeking you out of whatever corners you've been exploring here."

"You need me for something?" I hadn't thought my wandering would be noticed.

"Indeed, it's time to get you out of here for a spell. Mr Wayne has requested you are delivered to Gotham's finest department store and escorted around to find some essentials."

"You mean you're taking me shopping?" He is rustling around in a cupboard as he mumbles in the affirmative.

"I'm going to drive you, Miss Gordon will be your escort." He gives me a look of encouragement, my face must have alerted him to my apprehension. He slips a trench coat around me and bustles me out of the kitchen.

"To the Rolls!" He exclaims with a childish enthusiasm.

It seems like there's a joke in there I don't yet understand


	7. Chapter 7

Whoever you may be, I love you for reading. It's pointless doing this without people to enjoy it, no matter how few do. Say hi if you're on twitter. I'm katorcrog.

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Gotham is, at first glance, one of the most hauntingly beautiful places I've ever seen. The towns and cities I saw all over Europe as a child are idolised but foggy memories, and none of them seem to compare. There's no flashy architecture here, and everything seems so permanent. We crossed a bridge bigger than I've ever seen and went straight into a bustling art deco dream.

"Bruce painted a slightly different picture of this place... I imagined decay, horrible brand new buildings sitting right next to rotten, empty, half demolished ones... homeless people lining the streets..."

"He is rather morbid."

I expect him to follow that statement up with something, but he doesn't say another word until we pull up right in front of our destination. Alfred is around the car and opens my door before I realise I'm still staring slack jawed at my surroundings. I look over and see a woman waving at me from just outside the store door.

I make my way through the passing people and don't notice Alfred has already pulled away into the rain and mist.

"Hi, I'm Barbara, let's go get a coffee or something before we get down to the gruesome job at hand."

I smile in relief, I had been bargaining on a perky shopping enthusiast and instead I have a girl that looks about as plain and straight forward as me. She weaves through the crowds of shoppers effortlessly, red ponytail flicking behind her. I'm certain that before I wouldn't have been able to keep up with her. We get onto an escalator and before I know it I'm sitting in a quiet corner, frothy coffee in hand and Barbara is making apologies.

"It's typical of Bruce, he doesn't seem to understand that no girl's first experience of America should be the temple of consumerism. He's hopeless. I'm sorry. I almost choked on my breakfast when Alfred called me to give me this most important of assignments." I nearly think she's mocking me, but her face tells me that I'm supposed to laugh along with her, that she's actually mocking Bruce.

"I'm lucky he's taken me in though, I think I'd be lost right now if he hadn't picked me up." I say, but I can't help but feel lost anyway.

"And you're lucky to have him to learn from. In lots of ways. In Gotham, there's a lot more than meets the eye. There's something that keeps it shut off from the outside world, and different rules apply here... I doubt there would even be rules if Bruce wasn't around."

I nod. I have questions, but I just can't voice them. I don't know if I'll like the answers. I sip my coffee, it's all creamy and bubbly and feels like a hug from the inside. A lot different than what I've had in the past.

"Rose, I don't want to scare you but I want to be honest. Bruce explained to me the power you might be carrying because of that sword, and he didn't say it but I think he hopes that power might mean you'll be able to do the things he does. At night. Please remember that you can decide if you want to or not. There's plenty of people that end up in a situation like yours, and consider it a curse rather than a gift. You're so young, and it isn't your battle. He's right to think that you should learn some things to get you out of the trouble you might face as a result of the sword falling into your possession, but if he wants to take you further than that, remember you have a choice. He might give you a place to live and a credit card to use but those things aren't a sacrifice to him. You wont owe him a debt. You don't owe him your life." She looks at me hard, the gravity of her words and the way she chooses them gets her message across loud and clear. It makes me feel a bit more at ease to know I might still be in control of my own life, little as it seems right now.

"Thanks," is all I can think to say in reply. I had wanted to be able to make friends with this girl, but I need to be able to get more than one word at a time. A chance to have a conversation that isn't about me might do me some good.

"So, how do you know Bruce anyway?" I ask.

"You could say I work for him, or with him. We met through my father, although it's the other side of Bruce's life that falls into Dad's territory. He's the Police Commissioner." I nod, but I think I need to find out exactly what that means. "I'm usually stuck at a computer, for some reason I ended up with the talent of computer hacking. If you ever hear Bruce mention Oracle, that's me. He's a good detective but I can find a lot of things much faster than he can." I can tell she's proud of this. "Oh, and Oracle is what you might call a secret identity, so shh." I motion a key locking my mouth.

"I've never used a computer. I see them everywhere but I've never really had reason to. Maybe you could show me some time?" I ask.

The way her jaw drops makes me think I've said the wrong thing.

"Oh honey, I never knew such people existed anymore! I'll get you up to speed no problem. We can pick you up something today and you can test it out once we're back at the house. Alfred says he wants us to bring in some Thai food for dinner so I'm going to join you and go over some things with Bruce while I'm there. A computer newbie! Who would have thought?!" I can't help but laugh at her excitement, maybe I did say the right thing after all. Then I realise how far away dinner might be.

"Barbara, it's only just nine in the morning, are we going to be in here all day?"

"Yup, shopping is a hell that you can't get out of without spending a certain time on all seven levels. If the sun ever shone in Gotham, I'd say we'd be done before it sets." She says.

"A day in the temple of consumerism it is then. I'm terrified."

Morning comes and goes, then lunch passes in a greasy salty fast food blur, and by the afternoon we are working with military precision. I think I've seen everything a person could ever want to own. Barbara is really patient while showing me how to actually use a credit card, and gave me an encouraging shove here and there when I was reluctant to buy things that cost more money than I've ever seen. She kept telling me that the different currency is what's throwing me. I'm sure that's lies.

The time finally comes when she's certain I have everything I need, a vast majority of which is due to be delivered to me. She drives us back out of the city and over the bridge, explaining to me that we were only on the North Island, that there's two more. There's nothing really built on the mainland that's North of the city because Bruce's family has always made sure they own enough of it to stop it from happening, and there's no bridges from the city going West either. Gotham has no room to expand, and she makes it sound like it's a country all of it's own.

There's a vast difference between Barbara's car and the one Alfred brought me in. It's fast and fun, but old and stylish. She races through traffic and lets the engine roar and the spray from the rainwater on the road flies from the sides and the back of the car. It's like we're flying across a lake, wheels skimming the surface.

I've spent a whole day occupied and busy. I've made a friend. We still have dinner to look forward to, and from the smell in the car I think it's going to be amazing.


	8. Chapter 8

Hiya. Trying to write some strange violence. Enjoy.

-8-

I crash into a wet, cold stone wall with the force of a speeding bullet but rather than land as a heap of flesh on the ground, the wall cracks into pieces behind me. All he did was grab me as I turned and threw me with my own momentum.

Bruce has taken me out into the garden, in the night, in the dark. He asked me to fight with him. When I lifted my fists to impersonate a boxer, he laughed and said it was a start. Since then I have been using much more than my fists to try and give him back some of the blows he's managed to pay me. He mocks me, dances around me, turns everything I do into a failure. He's not teaching me, and I'm growing very frustrated. Sweating and growing weary too, I feel like I'm long over due a nap, my belly full of thai food weighing me down.

As I stand from the pile of rubble I can't help but curse. "Shit, Bruce I'm so sorry, I'm sure I can fix this. I hope I can fix this." I begin to gather the pieces of old mossy stone and survey the damage.

"I don't care about a wall." Is his reply. The wall is warmer than the tone of his voice. He mocks me for caring about something someone cared enough to build here a long time ago.

I am about to rise and turn to walk back to him, but his hands clasp around my ankles and fling me in the air. I'm screaming with my eyes shut feeling the world tip on itself. For the longest second I'm falling, then I land. A few more seconds pass before I open my eyes and find myself crouched on the ground, using one hand to steady myself on the ground and another in the air keeping my balance.

Bruce is walking over to me, I'm at least ten feet from where he threw me. "I'm impressed Rose. You wouldn't have seen that, but you flipped pretty well and landed it in a crouch to take the impact of landing. It was like you've done it for years."

"Thanks, I guess. Don't know how I did it though."

" Next time don't scream and close your eyes and you'll be able to figure it out."

"Can you do that?" I ask, wondering if he'd show me.

"I can, but not on demand. When I have to choose between landing on my head or my feet I do, but it takes significantly more energy for me than it does for you." This isn't hypothetical, he's been in fights where he has been thrown.

I nod my head, my mind churning on what strength he faces, the monster that came after me was larger than even him. I raise my fists again. I want to fight until I feel as big and strong as my attacker was.

The bare fisted punches we both throw grow in force. He's stopped deflecting everything I do, he's letting me get close enough to him that I land the punches that I consider before I execute. What we were doing before could be considered dancing, but now we are boxing, as I had expected when I came out in the dark with him. He's landing punches too, to my upper arms, my torso, my ribs. They sting a little, but I don't falter, I daren't back down. I want to push him as much as he has been pushing me. I want to see what I'm capable of.

I realise that's what he wants to see too. That's why he's brought me out here.

I increase my speed, I copy actions he uses. He can do things with his hands that I don't really register, his open palm can hurt as much as his knuckles, his forearm coming down on my collarbone makes me cry out. In that moment, I feel myself come to life. I try to concentrate on every part of my body, move my feet to put the power of my whole body into my fingertips. I take the same measured breaths as I do while doing the calm, easy stretches I had practiced before any of this.

We never kick and we never aim for the face. We never get more than three feet apart. After a few glances at his face I realise that he never takes his eyes off mine.

I return his stare, and we fall into a pattern of blows that gets more forceful with each repeat. In his eyes I see him daring me to go further. I can jump higher and not feel so much when I am thrown into a wall, can I handle this?

When I think I'm hitting as hard as I can, when it seems like he couldn't possibly deflect my fist, he still does. I'm getting faster and meaner but nothing takes it's toll on him. It gets harder to absorb what he is doing, which only makes me find the strength to just accept the pain. Over and over, minute after minute, we each push harder until there is an army behind every blow and the pain is white hot and blinding, blurring everything apart from his eyes looking back at me and seeing the same fire in his eyes that I feel in mine. I stop paying attention to the pattern and feel time slow. The world slips away, and my heart starts to burn in my chest from feeling something that I never knew was possible. Where there has always been calm, there is a storm. The loudest thunder I've ever heard. It's chaos, but I can stand in it. Bruce is standing with me. I know he feels it too.

Lightening cracks, and I catch his right fist in my left hand before it lands on my shoulder for the hundredth time, breaking the pattern. In the same moment, my knuckles on the other hand shatter against the very centre of his chest. The storm turns to fog, and we fall into the mud at our feet.

Our breathing never changes, our stare doesn't break. I'm on top of him, I can feel his chest rising and falling. The hand I used to catch his punch is now wrapped around the back of his neck. The pain I feel in my other hand is as strong as my euphoria, I bring it up to his face so I can see. I move slowly, my hand never breaking contact with his torso, his chest, his neck. When it's against his face I can see it's now just a mess of blood and bones. He lifts his left hand to turn mine so he can see. My blood is on his face where I held it. There's alarm in his eyes when he sees the mess of my fingers, panic. I smile, I hold his neck tighter, once again I tell him I'm okay without words. He releases my broken hand, and I return it to his face.

Then his eyes close, and I lose the connection. I don't know how he feels. My face drops the last the last inch to his so our noses touch when his hand reconnects with me, holding the hair just above my neck. He holds it tight and turns my head. I close my eyes too when I feel his lips touch just below my ear. My body shifts in an attempt to get closer to his and I feel his other hand on my back pushing me into him. He wraps his arm around me.

His lips move against my neck and I lose control of my breathing, I'm all shudders and shakes and I can't hold onto him tight enough. I'm falling from the heights I reached while fighting.

The drizzle above us changes to a downpour and I feel a chill like frozen fingers weaving up my spine. I pull my head from his. He keeps his grip on me.

"I'll drown," I tell him. "I don't know how to swim and the rain is coming down so hard."

He lets go of me only to get us both to our feet. He seems to disappear into himself, he's looking down at the ground. I take his hand and start to pull him toward the house. We run up the steps, crash through the door and I don't stop or let go as we run through the dark house until we are in the bedroom.

When I ask him for something to wrap my hand in he goes to the bathroom while I put a lamp on and sit on the end of the bed. He kneels at my feet to wrap up my hand, and notices that the other is damaged too, but more bruised and swollen than burst open. I see his hands are the same too, and other marks are showing on his arms. There's mud everywhere, and my blood on his face.

Curiosity brings me to reach down and take off his t-shirt. The mess is a shock to me. I've never seen bruises like it, all blue and red. My bandaged hand comes to cover my mouth. Realising I did this.

But he pulls my top over my head and I can see I'm no different. I gave as good as I got.

"I feel stronger," I tell him. "Like I don't need to worry about my body now. It can take a beating and I will still live."

"This wasn't my intention, I didn't mean for this to happen," He explains. His eyes don't meet mine until I reach for his face again, to put my hands where they feel like they belong. After a moment he looks calm. I stand, bringing him with me, and move to turn off the lamp.

"We can both sleep here?" I ask him.

"Yes." He replies, in a whisper.

My trousers are too wet to sleep in so I peel them off, and feel brave enough to reach for his too. When my fingers brush his thighs I feel the same as I did when I was on top of him outside.

Under the covers his arms curl around me, slowly pulling me closer to him until I can't get any further.


End file.
